Penguins of Anarchy

Seven

Finally, after what seemed like weeks, with the invasion expected to take place in a looming five days, it was time to learn how to operate firearms of all different types.

The sergeants knew that they wouldn't have time to determine what kinds of positions the different recruits would best serve in, so they would have to make careful observations during these last five days of training to have any hope of commissioning their recruits to their appropriate occupations.

On the second day, as Dreemo prepared to take his first run through the obstacle course that had been used at Aurora Base for decades and had been modified appropriately through the years, his uncle approached him with a warm smile on his face. He said nothing, but instead pulled a pistol out of his holster and handed it to Dreemo.

"What's this?" Dreemo asked.

"This is the very first gun you ever fought in a battle with," Drake said. "I may not remember much about my past, but I do vaguely remember that I was a good soldier. So even without my memory, I'm proud to see my nephew following in the footsteps that I made decades ago. The traits of a soldier are in your blood, and I have no doubt that you'll someday be as good as I was. Well, if you survive as long as I have..."

Dreemo had a surprised expression on his face. He had never wanted to join the army, and now he felt like an extremely heavy burden had just been laid on his shoulders, one that his uncle had been carrying for many years; and now Drake expected his nephew to eventually be a great leader of legions, perhaps of an entire army. That dream seemed too far in the future to even comprehend, but now Dreemo felt that an enormous quantity of responsibility had just been thrust into his flippers. Then again, he was Dreemo the Dreamer.

Dreemo remained speechless as he considered these things, but then, after deciding how he should best respond to such an honorable gesture of confidence in him, replied to his uncle, "I won't let you down, Uncle. In fact, I don't have much of a choice."

Drake's face lit up with pride in his nephew, the only friend he had had for twenty-five years. He was so glad that Dreemo was able to share this exciting yet frightening experience with him, and he could only hope that they would both live to see the end of this ever-so-recently initiated invasion.

Then, realizing he was taking up the trainees' time, he gave a dismissive nod to his nephew and walked off to attend to more advanced matters.

After watching his uncle walk away, Dreemo let out a nervous breath and clutched his pistol as he prepared to begin his sprint through the obstacle course.

"You ready, soldier?" Sgt. Klondike asked as he and forty-nine trainees, Sam and Felly included, stood at the sidelines.

Dreemo looked ahead at all of the piles of hardened snow, scattered rusty barbed wire, and concrete barriers throughout, and felt quite unsure of himself. He knew plywood outlines of enemy soldiers were hidden behind almost every obstacle, waiting for motion sensors to activate them and cause them to be flipped out of the snow. If Dreemo missed just a few of those targets, it could greatly affect his overall score.

Klondike held a buzzer in his flipper, and after giving Dreemo a few seconds of anticipation, pressed the button.

At the sound of the alarm, Dreemo charged into the course. The first plywood enemy flicked into sight and Dreemo prayed that his uncle had taken the safety off as he raised his arm, aimed, and pulled the trigger in one smooth motion.

An ear-piercing crack was sounded as the bullet was fired out of the barrel and spun at an unfathomable speed into the very middle of the red-and-white target painted on the torso of the enemy plywood outline. It was a direct hit.